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Her head throbbed, and she closed her eyes against the pounding in her skull. She knew she needed to get a grip. She needed to focus and try to understand what exactly was happening. Except she was exhausted. Her body was functioning on adrenaline and autopilot, while her head felt like it was full of cotton candy and sticky marshmallow fluff.
It was the smell of sandalwood and spice that made her open her eyes again. She shucked in a breath. Sirus was standing right in front of her, looking down into her face, so close she could feel the heat of his body against her chilled front. Once more, a rush of ice and warmth cascaded through her. It was dizzying. Her knees gave out a little, and before she could right herself he was there. A strong arm shot out to grab her by the elbow and keep her steady. A surge of energy shot through her from where his hand touched.
“You’re safe here,” he told her, as if he thought fear was why she was trembling.
Safe. There was that word again.
Her eyes locked onto the place where he held her arm. This was all beyond insane and overwhelming. Her head was swimming with unanswered questions, but no part of her doubted him. That she was safe. Here. With him. It hadn’t really crossed her mind not to trust him. It was more that everything had been so shocking, she hadn’t known what to think. The door to her apartment had been blown up, an angel and a dragon had had a sword fight in her hallway, Miss Jones was a witch, and now her dreamy vampire protector was promising her she was safe after yanking her through a magickal door to London because she was being hunted.
Gwen’s heart rate shot up with each thought, and her pulse grew to a roar in her ears. She felt like someone had parked a car on her chest, crushing her lungs. Panic took hold, unyielding and oppressive.
Breathe, Gwen! She could do that. One breath in and one breath out. But all she managed was a small, strained squeak from the back of her throat.
His jaw tensed, the tendons in his neck tightening. Grumpy didn’t do him justice. Sirus looked downright frigid as he took her in.
It only made her spiral further. Breathe, pass out, or be sick—those were her options.
“Breathe,” he commanded. Gwen hauled in a gasping breath, pressing her hands to her stomach. One by one, she gulped down harsh breaths, trying not to focus on the fact that her body had responded to his command and not her own. Thankful she’d not barfed up what was left in her stomach all over his boots or passed out in the grass.
He stood in silence as she tried to calm the hell down and put oxygen into her brain. When her breathing had steadied, he let go of her. “You are safe here, Gwendolyn,” he said again, with a little less chill than before. “I was contracted to find you and keep you so.”
She’s under my protection.
There wasn’t warmth in his words. It was simply the facts of the situation. She didn’t need to freak out because he was here and would keep her safe. It was what he’d been hired to do.
She hated it on principle. The idea that she needed protecting. That she couldn’t protect herself. She’d always taken care of herself, and she’d done a fine job of it up until fucking angels and dragons and vampires had shown up at her door!
And who the hell had hired him?
Nausea roiled in her guts, and she tried to swallow it down. It was cold and damp, and she was shivering. She might as well have a meltdown inside where it was warm and not out here where she’d catch London pneumonia.
He slid closer to her, the heat of his body shifting to her side. “Come,” he told her, hovering just at her back. “There will be time for questions later.”
She knew she didn’t know him. Every still-working rational part of her brain told her she shouldn’t trust him. But her feet moved at his instruction. Toward the house. Toward warmth. Toward the answers she desperately needed.
Probably toward complete and utter doom.
Chapter Five
The stench of ash lingered in the air. Aldor brushed his fingers over a line of charred black paint along the wall.
“You disobeyed my order,” he clipped, continuing his turn around the room.
The beaten scout grunted in pain. He suffered a broken rib or two, amongst other injuries. He deserved far worse. “I thought?—”
“You were to observe the witch,” Aldor cut in. He didn’t have any interest in excuses. “To report anything suspicious. When you contacted me, was I not clear in my direction?” He’d told the fool to wait for reinforcements.
“I had to stop them,” the scout defended through a hiss of pain.
“And you thought you’d stop them all on your own?” Aldor challenged, his rage growing with each passing moment.
“I had to?—”
“You failed,” Aldor snarled. The scout winced, and the two paladins holding him up shifted with discomfort, glancing nervously at each other.
Aldor hauled in a breath to steady his pulse. The coven would be on top of them soon. He didn’t have time for these imbeciles.
For weeks, he and a dozen of his High Priestess’s paladins had been combing the city, keeping to the shadows, searching for the creature under his orders. He’d not wanted to draw attention to their endeavor. Zephyrs were rarely seen outside of their island of Strye. If their presence was discovered, it would raise alarms. This pompous little shit might as well have sent a flare into the sky to announce them.
